Summer Cold
by Corbin Slate
Summary: The boss doesn't feel so well.


_Title: Summer Cold_

_By: Corbin_

_Rating: G_

_Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit made, this was purely for the sake of my well being._

_Spoilers: Nope_

_Warnings: Just don't let Favor breathe on you through the screen. :)_

_Archive: Yes_

_Feedback: On or off the list, whatever flies your kite._

It was a beautiful day, even if it had to be spent working like a mule. The trail drovers cheerfully guided the contented herd of cattle along the trail. The weather was pleasantly mild, the grass far better then expected, and the water holes were full and clear. Neither the cowboys nor the cattle could have asked for better luck. Good fortune had everyone in good spirits, and while their work was not any easier it was less unpleasant.

Well, most of the drovers were in contented moods. One man in particular was having trouble finding anything to be happy about at all. In fact he was rather miserable. The fact that everyone else seemed to be dancing through fields of wild-flowers annoyed him. He hadn't said anything to anyone, but the feelings could be plainly viewed on his face. 

It had started as a rather bothersome itch at the back of his throat. He'd tried to both ignore it and rub it away with his tongue, but the itch refused to leave him alone. It soon turned into a burning sore throat accompanied by a totally unwelcome cough. Now on the third morning of his misery, and in spite of his refusal to acknowledge its presence the cough was still with him. It sounded deeper, having planted itself comfortably in his chest, and manifesting itself with a nasty hacking sound.

Favor sniffed unhappily at his morning coffee, and was not even rewarded with the comfort of the strong aroma of the drink. He ignored the fact that he was too congested to breathe through his nose and took a small sip of the coffee. It tasted like the residue coating the back of his throat. He couldn't remember a more disappointing mug of coffee. The trail boss grimaced as he choked some coffee down the wrong pipe. He glared angrily at the coffee for trying to drown him. Favor had attempted to both take a drink and a breath in the same moment. Somebody was laughing at him. He looked up wiping the coffee he choked on from his chin, and he met his ramrod's cheerful expression.

"Well, what's the matter, Boss? Coffee too strong for ya today?" Rowdy asked mildly as he sipped his own mug of dark liquid with ease and a cheerful, almost smug smile.

The trail boss fixed a glare on Rowdy. He had every intention of making a stern reply complete with the threat of riding drag for a solid week, but as he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out. In place of the trail boss's deep, collected tone a barely audible sound escaped. Favor tried to clear his throat; he found his voice, but instead of sounding stern he just sounded raspy and incoherent.

"Mr. Favor, are you feeling sick?" Rowdy asked as he halfheartedly tried to interpret what Favor had grumbled at him.

Favor scowled at the younger man, no way was he ever going to admit that he'd managed to catch a lousy cold during the best stretch of weather any on them had seen in weeks. The trail boss grumbled to himself feeling slightly cheated out of a perfectly good morning coffee. He stepped near the ramrod and poured the coffee out at the younger man's feet. Rowdy stepped back and laughed as the trail boss stormed off to find his horse. Favor made his way to the remuda, and despite the protests from his aching muscles he mounted his horse and set to work.

By eleven in the morning he'd stopped denying to himself that he was sick. He felt as though he'd put in a full day's work even though he still had many more long hours to go before he could even think about resting. Favor's congested head pounded in perfect harmony with the hoof-beats of his pony. The headache seemed to grow worse with each passing moment. 

In a futile effort to stop his nose from dripping down to his lip, Favor sniffed. If his brain hadn't been pounding like a war drum in his ears, he might have wondered how in the world it was possible to be both stopped up and flooding like a stream at the same moment. Reluctantly, he took out his hanky and gave the grimy cloth a mournful stare. He really didn't want to be forced to use it. Rubbing his nose with the soiled bandana was a bit like grinding his face on a red-hot branding iron. In spite of his silent commands to stop his nose threatened to run once more, so with a moan of displeasure he wiped his protesting face.

This had to be a curse, a way to suck all of the pleasurable moments out of the trail drive. Favor pulled his horse to a stop to have a look around. If he had felt better he would have found pleasure in the serenity of his surroundings, but not even the beauty of the scenery could charm him into a better mood today. He felt a catch in his throat and for several moments he was unable to control the fit of coughing that attacked him. With a grimace of disgust he leaned away from his mount and spat into the dirt. The trail boss's mount laid its ears back at the unpleasant racket that was far too near its head. The saddle rigging creaked gently as the trail boss reclaimed his proper seat. 

He sniffed. His stuffy nose was once again defying him. On impulse he reached up to wipe his face on his sleeve. He was about to smear his shirt, but he caught himself. On second thought, the dirty shirt and the irritated nose would not have agreed with one another. Frowning, he placed his left hand on his thigh and making sure that his other hand was still occupied with the reins; he started back to the thick of the herd.

The moment finally came to bed the herd down, and the trail boss felt a rush of relief. With the cattle settled the pounding in his head was a little more bearable. Favor stumbled wearily toward the chuck wagon to get something to eat in spite of the feeling that he wasn't all that hungry. Favor ate as much as he could force his raw throat to swallow, and instead of sitting near the campfire to talk idly he went to find his bedroll.

A feeling of utter exhaustion had seized hold of him, and still he felt restless as well. Sleep would not come easy that night. It seemed that every time sleep managed to claim him for a few moments of peace that he'd wake himself up in a fit of coughing. The coughing would go on until he had to gasp for air between the catches in his oddly dry throat.

He'd almost gotten more sleep riding nighthawk that night. It was such a peaceful evening that he'd caught himself dozing more than once as he paced the borders of the sleeping cattle. To his relief no one else had seen him falling asleep on night watch. He knew that had anyone else seen him nod off like that he'd never hear the end of it.

The morning came and still Favor felt like he'd been trampled on by several members of his remuda. The trail boss stood leaning on the chuck wagon, halfheartedly sipping his mug of warm coffee. When he'd finished torturing himself trying to drink, he poured the rest of the coffee out at his feet and watched it puddle around his boots. He set his cup amongst the pile of dirty dishes and continued to lean on the wagon, looking toward the empty horizon.

"Morning, Mister Favor," Pete spoke with a bright grin as he set his full mug of coffee near the trail boss. Favor watched the scout with mild interest as Pete glance around the chuck wagon searching in vain for something. "You haven't seen the sugar this morning, have you Boss?"

Favor shook his head in reply, and rubbed his weary face with the palm of his hand. Pete disappeared still searching for the sugar, leaving his mug of steaming coffee behind on the tailgate.

Rowdy sauntered up to the chuck wagon happily sipping his morning brew. The young man set his cup near the scout's mug and looked up at his boss, who was still cupping his face in his hand. 

"Feel any better today, Boss?"

Favor pulled his hand back from his face and gave Rowdy a glare. A silent command to the younger man to shut up and finish his coffee. The trail boss was still in no mood to discuss how he felt.

"Well, if you ask me you sure don't look any better today," Rowdy stated, taking in his boss's features. The man looked pale, worn out. The ramrod reached down and retrieved his mug of coffee with a smile, and in a light tone he teased the trail boss, "Coffee's good today, Boss. Why aren't you drinking yours?" Rowdy gestured to the idle mug with the mug he held in his hand.

Rowdy lifted his mug to his lips and took a big swig. Favor watched as the young man's expression suddenly shifted. The boy withdrew the mug from between his lips, and spat the coffee he'd started to drink in the air. Rowdy narrowly missed giving the trail boss a morning shower.

"This isn't mine," Rowdy stated softly as he glanced toward his boss. "Is this your coffee, Boss?" Rowdy asked. He held the mug away from himself as though it was going to spring and attack him.

Favor felt a slight grin crease his face. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced around the chuck wagon with his arms folded confidently across his chest. "Well, I don't see anybody else around to lay claim to that mug. Do you, boy?"

Rowdy's smile had faded from his face; with a disgusted grunt he poured the rest of the scout's coffee into the dirt. The young man slammed the empty mug down and swiped his own drink from the tailgate, shaking his head as he stomped off.

A few moments later Pete had returned with a handful of sugar for his mug of coffee. The scout turned the empty mug upside down and watched as the last drop fell from the cup's metal rim. The scout glanced accusingly at the trail boss, still clutching the handful of sugar.

"You know Boss, if you wanted some more coffee I would've been more than happy to get you some. You didn't have to go and drink mine," Pete snarled in an annoyed tone as he reached for a clean mug and stalked off to the fire for more coffee.

Favor leaned up against the chuck wagon, with his arms still folded and rolled his eyes. Now that he wasn't really thinking about it he did feel better today. He could distinctly hear Wishbone barking out orders and insults to poor Mushy. In the distance he could hear Rowdy cussing out his horse for stepping on his foot. The mood of the crew was already shifting. Things were on their way back to normal already. The trail boss shrugged helplessly and turned away to go and find his horse. It was only fitting that all of his days on the trail were especially long ones. 

  



End file.
